


The Protégé

by Quillweave



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: And even when your kid is now The Boss you can smack him up the head when he's being dumb, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dark Brotherhood Questline, Family, Family Feels, Father Figures, Friendship, Gen, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 10:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18445175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillweave/pseuds/Quillweave
Summary: Vicente Valtieri, in his hundreds of years in service to the Dark Brotherhood, decides it is time for a change and steps down from the rank of Speaker. His confused and angered protégé demands answers and, patient as ever, he gives them. Oneshot.





	The Protégé

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to explore Lucien and Vicente's relationship a bit more indepth. Perhaps once a mentor and father figure, simultaneously a caregiver and a superior, now technically his lesser in rank. How did things look, in the old days? 
> 
> I imagine Lucien in this story to have joined the Brotherhood as young as sixteen or older at eighteen, and now to be in his early to mid twenties, on the cusp of becoming the man we know and love in Oblivion, but still with a ways to go. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. Guys, we're adoring and writing feelsy stories about the bad guys. The assassins. How did this happen?

“I don’t understand you.”

He’d been expecting this, of course. A gentle, ashen sigh as Vicente set down his quill, careful not to blot the ink. “If you have a question, Assassin, I expect it phrased appropriately.”

“For your rank?” A sneer. The young man leaned against his doorframe, features curled, staring with flint-dark eyes. Funny – a small smile curved the vampire’s lip as he watched him, remembering. Didn’t seem so long ago he was rake-thin, more boy than man. Now he was finally filling out his armour, and true muzzle now grizzled a once downy chin.

He had grown. Changed, as all things should.

“Yes.” He ignored Lucien’s obvious bristling at the blunt answer, moving to sort through his paperwork. Endless paperwork. What a relief it would be to lessen that load. “I am still your superior, Lucien.”

 “No, _she_ will be.” He stalked over to the desk. In curled fists, in quickened blood he could see and smell his frustration held at bay. Even in anger, he was practicing what he’d been taught – the slow, even breaths, the measured words. “… I do not… _understand.”_

“Speaker Nurisea will serve all of you well. I will answer to her, yes, as you have and will continue to answer to me. I am not leaving, Lucien. I will still be here.”

“But not as our Speaker.” Through gritted teeth the hiss, his shoulders hunched before he inhaled and smoothed them out. The smile returned, faintly. _Good boy,_ came the instinctive thought. _Good man,_ these days. How he’d grown. How they all had, under his tutelage. How he treasured that.

But the younger man saw only the curve of his lips as mocking, anger flaring out at last. “What are you _grinning_ at, old bat?”

The room went cold. His voice didn’t rise but softened, smooth and cool as a dagger’s kiss, piercing as his warning gaze. “Careful, child.”

Silence. Lucien’s ragged breathing broke it as he sucked in air through his teeth, nares flaring. Turning on his heel to march out but Vicente was faster, reaching him, a hand gentle on his shoulder.

“Why are you angry, Lucien?”

He could almost feel the blood roiling in him cool. He’d grown so much better at controlling it over the years, from a boy cursing and throwing inkwells into a well-spoken, smooth young man. He had a ways to go, of course, but they’d come far together. With hard work, with persistence and most of all, with patience.

So he waited, as long as it took. Gesturing for Lucien to follow him back to his desk, to sit down as he poured them both tea. An unhurried, but expectant glance. Lucien’s eyes shut as he took his time to think.

“… I do not understand why you would throw away what you have worked for. What we all work for. Every rank is _earned._ Every other wears it with pride. I don’t – “ And here he lost his eloquence, growling in his throat, shaking his head.

“I will always be proud of the time I spent as Speaker. A near century, Lucien, longer than many of our most dedicated human brothers.” An incline of his head as he spoke. Lucien nodded, reluctant but acquiescing the point. “But I believe now I will serve better here.”

“Why?”

The smile returned, polite and faint, but amused. “I must answer a question with a question. Why does it _bother_ you, Lucien? You lose none of the merit you’ve earned with me. Speaker Nurisea knows your reputation, what to expect of you. Little will change.”

Thin lips pressed tight, gaze hard. Finally he seemed to dredge up the right words. “… I expected to serve _you,_ Speaker Valtieri. I have since I was accepted. You’ve been with the Brotherhood for _centuries_ , I didn’t – expect change. I had hoped…” Lucien no longer blushed, not like when he was a boy, but still his gaze darted away. “… To serve you as Silencer, someday.”

A soft laugh. “Lucien, my dear boy, you will _never_ be a Silencer.”

Shock first. Like a slap, taking his breath and leaving him gaping. The anger like a flare, the hurt in his eyes, but before he could rage the vampire finished his thought.

“What a _waste_ of your talent it would be, keeping you in the shadows.”

“… Speaker?”

“Yes, I expect that much of you someday.” Poor Lachance, gawking until he had the presence of mind to shut his mouth and straighten, colour fled. “Speaker, and an excellent one. When you are in control of your temper, you speak eloquently. You are organized, systematic, even dare I say _charming_ when it suits you. Oh, you’re as silent and deadly as any of our best cutthroats, but your _true_ skill will be as the Brotherhood’s voice.”

Lucien swallowed hard, mouth dry, throat tight. “… You honour me, sir.”

“I have, over the years, realized my talent is not in the upper echelons. I do well with our younger members, our fledglings. They need a strong presence, a constant to help them adjust to this life. I have found my calling in that and, so long as I please the Night Mother, rank and title concern me not. And frankly, I tire of paperwork.”

And here that charm came out, a crooked smirk, a near purr. “I would never have believed that if I hadn’t heard you say it, Speaker.”

“Soon it will be Executioner.” He rose, rotating his neck with a slow crack. Feeling his age – another reason a few decades here, in the Sanctuary, would suit him well. A smile at his protégé, barely too polite to be a smirk. “Someday I may even address _you_ as my superior, mn?”

“I look forward to it.”

A soft, shared chuckle. His hand returned to Lucien’s shoulder, gentle, steadying.

“… You need not fear Speaker Nurisea. She may have strange ways from her years in Black Marsh but she is a wise, reasonable woman. She may not fall for your _charms_ …” And here the smirk sharpened, tips of fangs bared. “But she will admire your skills, and pass on those I cannot.”

A pause. Lucien rumbled in his chest, leaning forward, brooding. “… Everything I know, you taught me.”

“She will teach you more yet. Your interest in alchemy – she can take it to new heights, an adept herself in poisons of the swamps. And you’ve been taken with riding, yes? Ever since that incident in Chorrol…”

“When I stole a horse to flee a botched job, barely escaped and you _tanned my hide_ black and blue?”

“Precisely.” He folded his hands behind his back, chuckling at the memory. “She has a marvelous mare. You will never see another like her. Perhaps someday, she will honour you with the right to ride her.”

“ _Her_ or the mare – “ And sometimes, Vicente had to remind himself he was still dealing with a hormonal young man. A thwack to the back of the head as Lachance snickered, then choked it back. “… Is this horse so special, to be such an honour?”

“You would be surprised. Nurisea will be good for you, Lucien. I would not leave you in unworthy hands. I trust her, as I trust you.”

He turned then, lowering himself – though these days Lucien loomed over him when they stood – to peer into his eyes.

“The question is; do you trust my judgment? Do you still have faith in me, Assassin?”

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t hesitate now. There was still uncertainty there, in his gaze – discomfort at new possibilities, awe at what may lay ahead. But the trust was there, hard-earned.

“Good. You may go now.”

A bow of his head as he stood. Only at the threshold did he pause. Vicente heard him falter and paused at his desk, listening.

“… Sir?”

“Yes, Lucien?”

“… They will be lucky to have you.” A slow nod as he spoke. “Our new Brothers and Sisters.”

“As will those you bring to the fold yourself, someday.” A shared look of respect, of understanding between the two men. “Goodnight, Lucien.”

A sigh as the room was his own again, as he returned to the last of his paperwork. Yes – it would suit him well to pass on the mantle. To give others a chance to step up and more, to work where he would serve the Night Mother best.

Things would change as they always did, as was inevitable. They would all continue to grow, in their own ways. And if it meant helping more young fledglings come into their own, to bloom into agents of grace and death as Lucien had…

Well.

He would be proud, someday, to call him Speaker.


End file.
